


Thirty Days of Leverage

by Kryptaria, rayvanfox



Category: Leverage
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Claustrophobia, Comic-Con, Cosplay, Drowning, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sharing Clothes, Star Trek References, Star Wars References
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-23 11:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3766924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kryptaria/pseuds/Kryptaria, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayvanfox/pseuds/rayvanfox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thirty days of Leverage isn't enough, but that'll have to do, for now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 1: Holding Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to pangallimaufry for betaing!

“Whoops!”

Everything happened at once. The teetering robot overbalanced, tilting too far over the edge of the chasm that was the central elevator shaft. Parker dove for it, and Hardison dove for Parker. A deafening clatter rang through the earwig before the noise-dampening circuits kicked in.

“Whoops!” Parker said again, her voice not at all strained from how she hung face-down over the elevator shaft. Only Hardison’s weight on her legs kept her from following the robot into the abyss.

Her hair swung like a pendulum between her outstretched arms. Parker 2000 — her green “I swear it’s not a replacement!” buddy — dangled from her fingertips.

Unperturbed by the descent, she lifted her head enough to look sideways and up at Hardison. She gave a cheerful grin and said, “Lost the earwig. Those things come out too easily, you know.”

“Baby, you—” Hardison cut off and shook his head. “Eliot, little help?”

“One second,” Eliot’s voice growled over the earwig. Then there was a thump and a grunt and a crash.

 _“Eliot!”_ Parker shouted, apparently trying to use Hardison’s earwig as her own. _“Save Parker 2000!”_

“How about Parker 1.0?” Hardison asked insistently. “And while you’re at it, your boy Hardison?”

 _“One second!”_ Eliot always sounded angrier than he was when he was fighting bad guys. The clang and crash that came over the earwig sounded final, and sure enough, Eliot’s voice came back, “On my way.”

“Cool, take your time. Not like we’re dangling over a precipice or anything,” Hardison said nonchalantly.

“Dammit, Hardison. Thirty seconds.” Eliot was breathing heavily as if he’d started to run.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Parker insisted — clearly a lie, given how labored her breathing was. She did another stomach crunch and grinned up at Hardison. “Told you we should’ve brought the climbing harness.”

Hardison cursed under his breath and adjusted his grip to hold her tighter. “Every time we bring it, you find a way to need it.”

“And when we _don’t_ bring it? Huh?” she asked, then looked sharply up — or down, actually — towards the robot. “Slipping here. _Eliot!_ ”

“Yeah, all _right,_ ” Hardison grumbled as Eliot’s footsteps sounded just behind them.

“What? How do you even _get_ in these situations?” Eliot said, either exasperated or amused — it was hard to tell. He dropped to his knees next to Hardison, then scooted back so he could lie down beside Parker. He stuck out his hand to reach for her, but she ignored him in favor of holding onto the robot.

“It’s the robot’s fault,” she said, giving a twist so she could look around her other side and grin at Eliot. “Well, it’s Hardison’s fault. He didn’t give it an antigravity drive.”

“That’s my girl. We’ve been watching some of the classics. _Star Trek, Battlestar Galactica,_ you know,” Hardison said proudly.

Eliot rolled his eyes so hard his head went in a circle. "Shut up. Parker, hand me the thing."

“You won’t drop it?” she asked suspiciously.

“You didn’t leave anyone standing back there, did you?” Hardison asked.

"Are you kidding me?" Eliot sat up just to look Hardison in the eye. Then he grumbled, "Asking me if I've done my job..." He leaned back down and reached out, twitching his fingers at Parker. “Gimme the damn robot.”

“Not until you promise,” she challenged.

“Fine, I promise!” Eliot huffed, sprawling flat again.

“Okay...” Parker’s weight shifted under Hardison, and he grabbed her by the waist. He held on tight as she tensed and swung the robot up and into Eliot’s outstretched hands. “Got it?”

“Yes.” There was a moment where it looked like Eliot was going to toss it into the abyss, but he brought the frog-like bot over the edge of the elevator shaft and set it aside. “Now your hand. Hurry up.”

“I’m upside-down.” She reached back for Eliot and grabbed hold of his forearm. He wrapped his fingers tightly around her wrist. “Hardison, scoot me back.”

“It’s okay to let up. I’ve got her. Just don't let go of her legs.” Eliot nodded at Hardison in encouragement.

Hardison set the line of his mouth tight, and he looked hard at Eliot. Only certainty stared back. “All right.”

As Hardison inched back, Eliot gruffly — or gently, for him — reminded them, “We got two minutes.”

“Then stop wasting time!” Parker said.

Hardison threw a wary look Eliot’s way. When Eliot nodded, Hardison shifted his weight to his knees, on either side of Parker’s legs, and tried to lift her by the hips without sending himself — and her — over the edge. Eliot’s free hand landed on Hardison’s shoulder, pushing back against gravity’s pull.

Together, they wrestled Parker back out of the elevator shaft. As soon as she was clear, she twisted around and sat up, taking their hands in hers. “Thanks,” she said cheerfully, as if they’d helped carry her groceries.

Hardison’s sigh of relief drowned out Eliot’s soft exhale, and as they pulled her up to standing, Eliot fondly grumbled, “Come _on._ Stop playing around.”

“You two are kind of useful,” Parker said, giving their hands a squeeze. Then she let go and swept down to pick up Parker 2000, cradling the green robot to her chest. “But next time, we’re bringing climbing harnesses for all of us.”


	2. Day 2: Cuddling Somewhere

“Eliot! El— _Mrph._ ”

Eliot’s hand clapped over Hardison’s mouth. “Quiet!” Eliot hissed into Hardison’s ear. With his free hand, he reached back and pulled the door closed.

Hardison jerked back enough to whisper, “Bad place! We can’t hide here!”

“Yeah? Where do you suggest we go?” Eliot hissed back at him. “There are at least six operatives out there —”

 _“It’s an electrical closet!”_ It came out more like a squeak than a whisper. “High voltage! We touch the breaker panels and junction boxes, we end up crispy critters!”

Eliot froze, feeling the space around him. He got both arms around Hardison and pulled him close, pinning his hands at his sides. “Then don’t touch anything.”

Hardison’s next inhale was thin and tight. “Why,” he asked in a faint whisper, “are we _in here?_ ”

“I don’t know,” Eliot insisted, though of course it was a lie. “You were looking for power sources, and I can’t ‘take care of’ anyone until Parker’s in position... Just _don’t move,_ okay?”

Hardison’s head thumped into Eliot’s shoulder — not a far distance, since they were pinned together from toes to chests. “If we die, I’m _never_ gonna forgive you. _Parker’s_ never gonna forgive you. And for all that you’re scary, she’s...”

“Parker. I know.” Eliot’s voice sounded slightly awed. “So don’t do anything stupid, and we won’t die. It’s not that hard to stand still, for Christ’s sake.”

“You say that. _She’d_ say that. Only you two aren’t the ones who sit in Lucille and type and _fix_ things. You two are _good_ at standing still. Did you know Parker broke into some fancy art gallery in Manhattan by pretending to be a human statue? Didn’t move for _six hours_. Me, I gotta _do_ things.”

The torrent of words came out in a rush of hot breath and squeaky whispers into Eliot’s shirt. The fabric was pulled tight, and it wasn’t until Hardison finally fell silent that Eliot realized Hardison’s hands were fisted in his shirt.

“And as ways to die go, electrocution _sucks_ ,” Hardison finally mumbled, almost sulky.

“I _like_ electricity,” Parker said into their earwigs.

“Parker, not helping,” Eliot growled deeply. Then he whispered into Hardison’s ear, “Don’t think about the dying part. It’s really hard to focus on that and live. Focus on something else instead,”  He let up his death-grip around Hardison’s body. At a loss for any other distraction, Eliot started to slide his hands slowly up and down Hardison’s back. “Here. Think about my hands.”

It seemed to help — at least for the first minute that Eliot counted down in his head. But then he realized that Hardison had gone perfectly, deathly still.

“What? What is it?” Eliot slowed his motions even further as his hands reached Hardison’s lower back, listening for any hint of activity outside the closet.

“It’s too close.” Hardison dragged in a breath. “Like... that funeral home job.”

“Shit.” Eliot rarely swore, and this time it only came out as a quiet hiss. “It’s okay, man. I’m here. I got you.” He wrapped his arms around Hardison again, not to restrain him, but in a comforting embrace.

Hardison gave a quick, jerky nod. “I know. I know.”

“Look, you’re okay. I’m right here. Parker’s just outside. There’s plenty of air. Take a deep breath, and I’ll get you out of here.” Eliot waited until Hardison acknowledged with another nod and a somewhat steadier breath. Then he risked raising his voice just slightly, and said, “Parker. We need your eyes.”

“Of course, you do,” came her chipper response. “On my way.”

Hardison let out a choked laugh that he quickly muffled, burying his face against Eliot’s shoulder. Eliot closed his eyes to focus on the floorplan of the building instead of the heat of Hardison’s mouth against his collarbone. He absently began to rub Hardison’s back again as he said, “Southwest corner. I need to know if the floor and the stairwell are clear.”

“Twenty seconds out,” she answered.

Hardison sighed. “That’s my girl,” he whispered, almost pulling away from Eliot’s embrace before he caught himself. His hands clenched in Eliot’s shirt again, and he said, “Shit. Electrocution. This was a _stupid_ hideout, Eliot.”

“I know, okay? But there wasn’t anything better. Think about something else. Think about your breath. Or mine. Let’s breathe together, huh? Come on.” Eliot took a slow, deep breath, and Hardison followed suit. Another breath and another, until Hardison relaxed and Eliot stopped counting.

And then there was a soft _click_ , and Eliot twisted and did his best to cover Hardison in the too-tight space.

“Hi, boys. Guards are gone... This looks like fun,” she announced, plastering herself to Eliot’s back and reaching around him to grab hold of Hardison.

Eliot growled, “Parker, no!” just as Hardison yelped, _“Electrical closet!”_


	3. Day 3: Watching a Movie

There were never enough fake IDs, so when Parker and Eliot wandered in, Hardison was backstopping a new set of identities, which is what he did with his spare time. Well, that and video games.

“Movie night,” Parker announced, coming up behind Hardison. She gave him a poke between the shoulderblades. “Come on. We need you to work the remote.”

“It can’t be movie night. It’s three o’clock in the afternoon.”

“Movie _afternoon_ , then,” Eliot growled, startling Hardison into looking up from his laptop.

Yeah, that was Eliot, looking scruffy and possibly homeless as always, carrying an immense glass bowl of too-brown popcorn. Hardison twisted around to look at Parker for an explanation — not that Parker was any better than Eliot at explaining things. She just shrugged.

“I was trying out recipes for the brewpub and made too much caramel corn.” Eliot was looking at Parker, not Hardison, as he added, “And Parker says you made her watch that Jar-Jar nonsense first.”

“I made —” Hardison wheeled around so fast, he almost fell off the bar stool. “ _I_ made?”

“You said ‘first’ movie,” Parker said, sliding the words in like a knife between the ribs.

Hardison shot Eliot a _help me_ look, because the first movie/fourth movie conversation had gone on for two days and ended with Parker sleeping suspended upside-down in the emergency stairwell. Parker could “snit” like an Olympic champion — not that Hardison would ever tell her that.

“I dunno, man. But it’s high time she saw _A New Hope,_ don’t you think?” Eliot shook the bowl of caramel corn, his eyebrows up. He always looked so much less deadly when he wasn’t scowling.

Hardison’s grin lasted exactly one and a half seconds before he turned and looked warily at Parker. “That’s episode four,” he told her.

She rolled her eyes. “Not _really_.”

Eliot’s gourmet popcorn and the _real_ first _Star Wars_ movie? Why was Hardison fighting this?

Two minutes later, they were settled on the couch, after a shuffle of “Move over” and “Not _there_ ” from Parker, who was confusing “mastermind” and “supreme commander” again. Hardison ended up in the middle, in possession of zero armrests, the remote, and the popcorn bowl.

As the opening credits started, Eliot reached for a handful of popcorn and said, “Man, I haven’t seen this since it came back to theaters.” He smiled at Parker and added, “My first sword work was with toy light sabers.”

“Special edition,” Hardison grumbled as Parker snatched at the popcorn. “Special edition, my _ass_. Wrecked the damn film.”

“I want a light saber,” Parker said thoughtfully before she stuffed the popcorn into her mouth.

Eliot leaned over so he and Hardison could both look at her.

“What?” she asked, the word mangled by how she was crunching. “It’d be useful. Like a cutting-taser.”

“That is not at all what it would be like. Light sabers have a very distinctive electrical makeup. They don’t _tase_ people; that’s the Emperor.” Eliot was frowning and using his I'm-enunciating-because-you-are-an-idiot voice.

Parker reached for more popcorn. “If this is in the past and far, far away, how come the robot’s British? And why are the guards such bad shots?”

“Beveled, darkened eye holes in helmets too big to sight through. Not to mention the refraction differential on the laser cannons. It would make hitting a target virtually impossible. I don’t know how nobody figured that out, though. Drives me crazy that none of them can hit their mark.” Eliot shook his head as he tossed a few kernels of popcorn into his mouth. “What’re you staring at?”

It took that question to make Hardison realize he _was_ staring, and he quickly turned back to the TV. Every once in a while, Eliot’s “break your kneecaps for fun” mask would slip, revealing the sort of mind that would’ve gotten him into MIT or CalTech. He was like a stealth-genius Rottweiler. Sort of like Parker. And the two of them together? Terrifying.

And safe.

Surrounded by the most dangerous creatures to ever walk the earth, Hardison sank back into the cushions and finally tasted the popcorn. A hint of salt and a wash of sweetness in the sticky outer shell, with a different, lighter-than-air sweetness underneath. Hardison picked up another piece, and another, until the bowl was three-quarters empty, and Darth Vader’s temper was beginning to show.

“I take it I should keep this recipe?” Eliot gestured to the popcorn bowl, a rare, fond smile on his face. As always, Hardison was startled by the way Eliot’s eyes could turn from steel to sunshine in a millisecond.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s real good,” Hardison said, trying to hide his goofy grin behind another handful of popcorn. He’d barely gotten it up to his mouth before Parker elbowed him hard enough to scatter the sticky kernels. “Hey!”

“Look!” Parker said, pointing at the screen, where Vader was employing unconventional management techniques in the form of force-choking.

“Yeah,” Hardison said, more concerned with picking popcorn off his clothes. Eliot was helping, which momentarily threw him off. “What about it?”

Parker grinned. “I want to learn how to do _that_. Eliot, teach me.”

Eliot glanced up at the screen as he popped a kernel in his mouth. “That’s lesson fifteen. You’re on lesson three.”

“Dude, you are _not_ teaching Parker how to use the Force,” Hardison protested. Then he yelped out an “Ow!” at another elbow from Parker, this one digging right into his ribs.

“Parker,” Eliot growled, the bulldog back in his demeanor. “Today was about care, not pain.” He looked back over at Hardison and said in a reasonable tone, “It’s not the Force; it’s an advanced mind control technique.”

“Uh huh,” Hardison said, too caught up in that “care, not pain” line to remember what he’d been talking about. Eliot and Parker were warm and close to him, even though the couch didn’t sag into the middle, and they’d let him eat most of the popcorn, even though putting Parker in a room with sugar was a recipe for disaster.

For the first time since yesterday’s locked-in-the-electrical-closet incident, Hardison could breathe. And it was all their fault.

“Thanks, guys,” he muttered quietly.

“For what?” Eliot flashed his brilliant smile and winked so subtly Hardison wondered if he'd imagined it, then looked innocently back at the wall of screens.

Before Hardison could think up anything to say, Parker said, “ _Two_ lightsabers.”

“Two?” Hardison protested, thinking in terms of dual-wielding in the Star Wars MMO and Darth Maul’s super-special-snowflake double-bladed lightsaber. There was canon and then there was “stupid fanservice” canon.

Parker beamed at him. “One for me, one for Parker 2000.”

"That's a horrible idea," Eliot said, but it came out less gruffly than Hardison would have expected. He turned to see Eliot looking at him, eyes narrowed. "See if you can do it. But she'll need training, so make three."


	4. Day 4: On A Date

“Got it. Thanks, baby. You’re doing great.” Hardison’s voice came calmly over the earwig, just loud enough to be heard against the chest-vibrating music of the club. Parker slid the last credit card back into the wallet she’d lifted, then looked up at Eliot with a tight, unnatural smile. Even for Parker, that smile didn’t feel right.

“Is it the crowds? Or is it me?” Eliot wasn’t sure if he was asking Parker or Hardison for an explanation.

Parker gave him a frown — that patented Parker frown, with brows drawn in and lips pursed, as if she’d unexpectedly eaten a bug and now wanted revenge on its whole species. “Is what you?” she asked in a flat, blunt voice entirely at odds with the sinuous way she writhed in his arms. Her deadly heels clacked hard on the dance floor, hard enough for Eliot to hear them even over the bone-jarring bass filling the club.

“You’re tense. On edge. And it’s not the job. I gotta touch you to make our cover convincing, but I could stick with your shoulders or arms...” Eliot took his hands from Parker’s waist and placed them on her shoulderblades, hoping he wouldn’t offend her before they’d returned the wallet to their mark and got out.

Her huff was probably supposed to be casual, but it came out more like a dragon giving its fire-breath a test run. “It’s fine. You” — she hesitated and twisted, grinding back against him, draping her arms backwards around his neck — “have good rhythm.”

The combination of the compliment and the feel of her body against him made Eliot’s face flush hot. Luckily she was facing away from him. Unluckily, in her heels, they were the same exact height, which meant she was grinding back somewhere... inappropriate. He tried to remember if Hardison had access to cameras in the club, because the last thing he needed was an angry hacker on his hands.

He eased his hips back slightly to give himself breathing room, and managed to keep his lips a safe couple inches from her ear as he said, “Thanks. You do too. Hardison, everything check out?”

“Working on it,” Hardison said in a distracted sort of way. “This is our guy, though.”

Parker tipped her head back so her hair tickled Eliot’s face and neck. “Are you sure?” she asked, her voice echoing weirdly between Eliot’s earwig and his other ear.

“Yeah. Yeah, like, ninety percent. Maybe ninety-one.”

“That close enough for rock n’ roll, or do we need more evidence?” Eliot didn’t want to have to do this again tomorrow night, if he could help it. Parker was a bit too tempting for this to become a habit. Especially since he couldn’t get a read on whether she was okay with it or not.

“Dude, I deal in facts, not speculation,” Hardison said. “Just gimme two more minutes. Parker, you sure you scanned everything? I got holes in this dude’s finances.”

“Credit cards, bank cards.” She spun around, locking her arms behind Eliot’s nape. Her fingers combed through his hair with a sharp tug, making him lose focus for a moment. “Nothing else.”

Hardison muttered under his breath; the earwig delivered a low rumble but not much else, thanks to the music.

“Plan B?” Parker asked.

“Baby, we talked about that. You don’t need to break into the IRS to see if he’s got a paper file. Everything’s on computers now.”

Parker’s sigh made her body shift in distracting ways. Eliot had nothing to do with his hands but place them on her narrow waist. Concentrating on the muscles he could feel beneath her slinky dress made him lose track of the dancers around them for just long enough that some jackass bumped into her.

She twisted away, hand slapping against her right thigh, where she had a stun gun in her garter. She’d flashed it in the parking lot, where she and Eliot had changed into clubbing clothes in the back of Lucille. Eliot had tried to keep his back turned until he thought it was safe, but there she was, skirt hiked up to her hips, showing a card reader on one thigh and a stun gun on the other. Ever practical, she was using the straps to hold up thigh-high stockings. That glimpse had been the beginning of Eliot’s troubles this evening. The use of a stun gun would quadruple them in a heartbeat.

He automatically grabbed at her wrist and twisted her around to face him, wrapping his other arm around her waist and pulling her close. With their bodies flush together from thigh to shoulder, they moved as one. It was more intimate than it had any right to be, given that they were in public. Not to mention the fact that they were technically co-workers. “Sorry. I’m sorry. But this isn’t the time or place for tasing. I’ll let you go in a second.”

She inhaled with a dangerous little flare of nostrils. “Twenty-eight,” she snapped out.

Eliot frowned and shook his head in incomprehension. “Twenty-eight what?”

“Wallets!” She pressed her lips together and deliberately wiggled against him as she glanced around, trying a bit too hard to blend in. “Twenty-eight wallets. Fifteen necklaces. Nineteen bracelets — twenty if you count the obvious fake, because who wears tennis bracelets anymore?”

Why was Parker casing the entire place? They were here for one guy’s information. Eliot almost asked Hardison for clarification, when it dawned on him that Parker might be distracting herself from their physical intimacy by paying attention to everyone else in the club. He couldn’t begrudge her the coping mechanism, especially since he wished he had one for himself at the moment. “Eyes on the prize, Parker. Focus on the one in your...” Her hands were back around his neck. “Where’s the wallet?”

One perfect golden eyebrow arched up. She’d somewhat inexpertly applied glittery silver shadow that caught the light. “It’s safe,” she said, twisting her shoulders in a way that rubbed her chest against his, scrambling his neurons for a heartbeat.

Then, under the slinky dress and slender body beneath, he felt the hard square of the wallet tucked into her bra.

Her smile flashed to life, bright and mischievous. “Keeps it body-warm so they don’t notice when you put it back.”

She was so good, it took Eliot’s breath. His competence kink was a dangerous handicap with this team. He blinked slowly to try and reset his brain as he said, “Hardison. Come on, man.”

“Yeah, yeah.” There was an edge of excitement in Hardison’s voice. “Yeah, got it. We’re good, man. I mean, this guy’s good, but he ain’t me.”

“Does that mean we’re done?” Parker asked, giving Eliot her pout again.

Looking anywhere but at those puckered lips, Eliot sighed and said, “Yeah, Parker. Put the wallet back and _don’t take anything else._ ”

When she spun away, out of his arms, he couldn’t help but shiver at the absence of her warmth. He made his way to the edge of the dance floor to let her do her thing. He resisted the temptation to order a beer, but only because the bar was three people deep, and they’d have to get out in a couple minutes.

Then Parker was back, swarming up against him, hips swaying to the beat as a new song started. “I like this one,” she said with a bright grin.

“Did you put the wallet back, baby?” Hardison asked.

“Yep.” Her arms locked around Eliot’s neck again, fingers twisting in his hair. It was as if she knew how much that got to him.

He couldn’t help but give her his most charming smile and ask, “One last dance? Or do you want out?”

Her nose wrinkled adorably. “I broke the rules.”

“Aw, no, Parker,” Hardison said at once. “No stabbing, remember? No stabbing on Wednesdays.”

There was a rule about that no stabbing? These two were kinkier than Eliot thought. Or Parker was just that terrifying.

She rolled her eyes and stepped back without letting go of Eliot’s hair — leading him towards the dance floor, he realized. “Not _that_ rule. I don’t even have a knife. Eliot does, though. Two of them.”

Through the fog of desire that hit him as she pulled on his hair, Eliot resisted the urge to check the holster under his left arm, or the sheath on his thigh. And he definitely didn’t look down at his right boot. She must have watched him dress. That, or he hadn’t been paying close attention to where her hands had been while they were dancing. “Four. But who’s counting? What rule did you break, and how badly did you break it?”

She never stopped moving in rhythm to the music, though she drew one hand out of his hair. She leaned in close, and he felt that hand move between their chests, high up. Then she moved her hand back up to his shoulder, where she brushed aside his hair. Her fingers trailed up his neck to his left ear, where he felt a cold, sharp scratch on his earlobe, followed by a little push.

“There you are,” she said, pinching his earlobe, front and back, around the earring he hadn’t been wearing a heartbeat earlier.

He’d been trying to follow her rhythm even as her hand on his neck made him shiver, but now he stopped and stood still on the dance floor as he reached up to touch the gift in his ear. All he could tell from feel was that it was a cut gemstone stud with a simple setting. How the _hell_ had she stolen an earring off of someone? He wanted to tell her to put it back, but that seemed impossible to do without getting caught.

“Parker...” he growled at her, but he knew his expression wasn’t even close to a scowl. He wrapped his arms around her and started dancing her toward the door.

“What happened? What’d she do?” Hardison asked.

“Oh, stop being” — Parker paused, dancing along with a grin on her face — “an old fuddy-duddy.”

“An old — Where do you _get_ these things?” Hardison demanded over Parker’s laugh. “Eliot, report, man. You two coming out hot or something?”

Eliot was definitely hot, but that wasn’t Hardison’s problem, and he’d never admit it to Parker, either. “Everything’s fine. We’ll be out in a minute. I think Parker actually liked this date.” He winked subtly at her and smiled his thanks for the gift.

“Liked — _Liked?_ ” Hardison asked incredulously. “What the hell, man? You two didn’t even jump off anything!”

“I like dancing, too,” Parker said innocently. Twelve more meters to the doors.

“I _asked_ you out dancing, and we ended up stealing a helicopter so you could —” Hardison let out a huff. “Next time it’s my night, we’re going dancing. On the _ground floor_.”

Parker rolled her eyes indulgently, smile never wavering. “Oh, fine.”

“And it’s gonna be on a Wednesday, so _no knives_.”

“But then we can’t bring Eilot.”

Startled, Eliot lost his rhythm and tripped himself up. Parker’s arms were strong and right where they needed to be to help him find his balance. At a loss, Eliot stammered slightly as he said, “I don’t — We can all go some other night. Not date night.”

“Oh, Wednesday’s not date night,” Parker said lightly. Once they reached the edge of the dance floor, she twisted away, only to latch herself onto his left arm. “That’s Mondays, when most clubs are closed. More romantic that way.”

Eliot blinked, imagining what exactly Parker would look like with a whole dance floor to herself. Suddenly, the idea of breaking into a club while it was closed and letting Hardison pick the music sounded like a fantastic idea — even if he played their dumb theme song about chasing bad guys. As they approached the bouncer, Eliot cautiously said, “Hardison? She’s your girlfriend.”

“And you’re my boys,” Parker said, squeezing Eliot’s arm hard enough that his fingertips throbbed.

_Yes._

_No,_ Eliot corrected. Not unless everyone felt okay with that. He kept his mouth shut before he put his foot in it.

“And _this_ boy of yours has just found the next piece of the puzzle,” Hardison said proudly. “Sunny beaches and turquoise seas, complete with sand fleas, jellyfish, and those creepy things with the stinger spines.”

“Ooh. I love poisonous fish,” Parker said, to no one’s surprise.

“Venomous. Poison you eat,” Eliot said as he held the door open for Parker. Not that either of them were listening to him.

“The Bermuda Triangle?” Parker asked.

“Sorry, babe. Not this time. We’re going to Key West.”

Parker got a feral grin. “Nice.” She squeezed Eliot’s arm again as they walked toward Lucille. “C’mon, boys. Let’s go steal a venomous fish!”


	5. Day 5: Kissing

The job went sideways terrifyingly fast. One slip and the mark got suspicious, dumped all the evidence, and took off. It wouldn’t have been so bad if ‘all the evidence’ hadn’t included the entire basement full of servers, where Hardison was hardwired into the system, and ‘dumped’ hadn’t meant setting off a failsafe explosive that blew a hole in the hotel pool, causing thousands of gallons of water to gush into said basement.

Parker had just barely made it down the elevator shaft in time to escape the building, run to the lowest point in the parking lot, and blast a hole in the foundation for the water to drain through. She had no idea how to fight through the flood of water draining through a meter-wide hole to get back inside.

Where Hardison still was.

“Dammit, Hardison. Don’t die on me, you asshole.” Eliot, on the earwig — the first voice Parker had heard since Hardison’s last words, which Parker refused to think about.

She looked up and down the gravel back lot, searching for a way back into the building. Elevator shaft to lobby (which wasn’t flooded) was as far as she’d been able to get, before she’d found somewhere to set the C4 charges that she’d lifted from the stationary closet — actually, an armory — just for kicks.

Eliot had made it in. He must have. That’s why he was telling Hardison not to —

Not to —

_Don’t think about it._

How? He’d been on the first floor. He’d had time to scout. How had he made it down to Hardison?

“I can’t hear him,” she said, sprinting around the corner. There had to be a window or a door for maintenance workers or something. “What’s going on? Is he offline?”

Offline. That was a good word. Better than other words.

“His earwig shorted. Get in here. Now.” Eliot again. Not Hardison. And Eliot sounded out of breath.

“On my way.” She remembered spotting a window around the front, too high to be useful for helping to drain the water. Hardison had blown the main breaker panel once things had started going wrong. His final act had been to shut off the electricity to this whole section of town, which meant nobody was getting electrocuted today. And the alarms were off.

Hardison must have tripped. Splashed underwater. Fried his earwig. He was fine.

She shoved the window open and slipped inside, splashing down to the floor harder than usual. Her legs were shaky. Why couldn’t she hear Hardison talking through Eliot’s earwig?

How much water had flooded the basement? She calculated the size of the swimming pool versus the area of the basement, all from what she’d glimpsed of the original plans. It couldn’t be enough to have reached the ceiling.

_He was fine._

Over the ominous creak of a building that was seriously considering a full structural collapse (minutes at most — need to get her boys out) she heard Eliot counting. _One, two, three..._ The rhythm was familiar but too fast to be seconds.

Training told her to be quiet. That there could be bad guys — _real_ bad guys, not _her_ bad guys — anywhere in the dark shadows thrown by shelves and walls and pipes and _things_.

But anxiety made her shout, “I’m here!” Her voice didn’t echo properly. All that water. She started splashing through it, shuffling her feet to keep from tripping, turning her head side-to-side to let her peripheral vision — much better in the darkness — do the work for her.

“Over here,” Eliot called. He was in the corner, kneeling on a desk with something long and bulky laid across it. His head was bobbing to the movement of his arms pressing down on the thing. When he looked up and saw her, his eyes were wide. Even in the dark room she could see the whites all the way around his pupils.

She knew what Eliot was doing, but she refused to let herself think it. Hardison was _fine_. He wasn’t on that desk. He was somewhere else in the basement, in a dark corner or climbing up through an airshaft or hiding in one of those network closets he loved. He _wasn’t on that desk._

“Hardison.”

Until the word slipped out, she didn’t know she’d spoken at all. She couldn’t make herself keep walking.

“Parker.” Eliot held out his hand, beckoning urgently. Then he leaned down again, and Parker knew what he was doing. _Breathing for Hardison_.

She had to help. She made it one step, then another, and then she ran the next three steps to the desk. Eliot had one hand under Hardison’s neck, the other over his face, holding his nose closed. Was that right? Should she help? Should she do chest compressions while Eliot breathed for him?

Should she call for an ambulance?

Eliot straightened up and grabbed hold of her shoulder. “Take over compressions. I’ll count. Stop at thirty so I can get some air in him.” He squeezed her shoulder and looked into her eyes. “We got this.”

She didn’t remember climbing up onto the desk. She went from standing there to straddling Hardison, hands stacked, pressing down on his chest. _One, two, three_. Fast counting. She remembered to let Hardison’s chest rise fully between them. _Ten, eleven, twelve._ She was breathing in rhythm to it, which was bad. Dizzying. _Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four. Stop!_

She didn’t remember all thirty compressions, but she stopped when Eliot yelled and leaned down over Hardison’s face.

He took a deep breath, then sealed his mouth over Hardison’s and exhaled. Hardison’s chest rose. Fell when Eliot lifted his head. Eliot inhaled. Leaned back down.

And then Hardison let out a rattling cough, and Eliot jerked back and barked, “Move!” Parker threw herself off the desk as Eliot pulled Hardison onto his side. It was too dark for her to see clearly, but the sounds Hardison was making were harsh and ugly and _alive_.

“Alec?” she whispered, leaning against the desk because her legs had gone all shaky.

Eliot quickly looked up from where he was still bent over Hardison. His hair was in his eyes. “C’mere, babe.” His voice was soft and again he reached out to her. “You did good.”

Babe? She was “babe” now? More to the point, she was okay with being “babe” now?

Apparently she was, because she took Eliot’s hand and put her other hand on Hardison’s shoulder to pat him awkwardly while he finished coughing up water and _stuff_.

Eliot let out a deep breath and pulled Parker close. Then he leaned over again, his free hand gently cupping the back of Hardison’s head, and said, “You’re okay, man. We got you.”

For a few more seconds, they all stayed like that, listening to Hardison coughing. Coughing was good. Coughing meant breathing.

Then Hardison lifted his head, looking around in the darkness, barely able to meet their eyes. “We —” He coughed again. “We okay?”

“We’re _fine_ ,” Parker said cheerfully, or tried to. Even she could hear how brittle her voice sounded, and she was _terrible_ at that sort of thing. And because she wasn’t thinking straight — wasn’t thinking at all — she added, “You’re our princess now.”

Eliot pulled back a bit to scowl hard at her. “Our what?” He looked down at Hardison then back at her and opened his mouth as if to say something else, but then he just shook his head in incomprehension.

“Our princess. Like Sleeping Beauty, only prettier,” she said a little madly as she leaned down to kiss Hardison’s cheek. She would’ve kissed his mouth, but no matter how much she liked kissing him, he’d just been coughing up all that _yuck_. “See? Eliot woke you with a kiss.”

Grumpy Eliot was back for some reason, and he growled, “That _wasn’t_ a — You know what? Never mind.” He tossed his hair and crossed his arms over his chest.

Hardison’s laugh came out more like another cough. “Uh huh. Whatever, man.”

He was talking. He was talking, and when he took a breath without coughing, Parker went all light inside, from her toes to the ends of her hair, as if she could fly. She was grinning so hard, it almost hurt her face and made her eyes squint even more.

“We should probably go, before the building collapses on us,” she said with a bright little laugh.

“Shit. You shouldn’t be moving around yet,” Eliot said to Hardison. He pointed sternly and said, “Go slow. And when we get to Lucille, _lie down._ ”

“I’m okay,” Hardison insisted, trying to sit up. He kicked Parker when he swung his legs off the desk, but she didn’t move out of the way. Instead, she got her arm around him while still hanging onto Eliot, needing to have them both close.

Eliot didn’t even grumble when Hardison put an arm around his shoulders. He just helped Hardison stand up, then gestured into the dark. “Stairs are this way. And gimme the keys. I’m driving.”

As they started walking, splashing through the water, Parker asked, “You don’t want me to drive? I’ll get us to the safehouse faster.”

“Hell no,” Eliot growled. “We want to get him there in one piece.”

Hardison laughed.

Parker hugged him close. “What if you need to kiss him awake again?”

Eliot paused for a second before he said, “That’s not how it works. Anyway, secondary drowning is rare, though we should make sure he doesn’t have trouble breathing for the next twelve hours.”

“Great,” Parker said as they reached the stairwell. “Then you can stay with us tonight, and we’ll take turns kissing him awake.”


	6. Day 6: Wearing Each Other's Clothes

“We need a geek,” Parker said as she swung into the back of Lucille.

Hardison took off his headset and went to stand, only to be pushed back down by the hand on his shoulder. “Wha—”

“Take off your clothes, Hardison.” Eliot actually looked serious as he shrugged off his jacket.

Hardison blinked a couple of times. “Excuse me?”

Parker nodded, sending her hair flying. She’d been wearing it down for her invisible-admin-assistant disguise. “Eliot’s our geek, this time.”

“Excuse me!” Hardison repeated, this time in horror. “Eliot’s as much of a geek as I’m a damn Imperial Stormtrooper. Did you see what he did to my PS3?”

“It was busted before I bang— tapped on it,” Eliot grumbled, his T-shirt over his head. “Come on. You’re still coughing. They’d send you home, thinking you’re sick.”

Just the mention of coughing made Hardison’s chest go tight. Yeah, he’d drowned just a week or so back, but this was a _job_. “You ain’t a geek _at all_. How the hell’s anyone gonna believe you even know ‘turn it off, turn it back on again’?”

“I’ve done this a hundred times. Tie my hair back, put on some glasses, talk through my nose... I’ll have you in my ear; what could go wrong?” Eliot nudged Hardison’s shoulder as he kicked off his shoes.

“Everything,” Hardison muttered, though he also stood up.

The shit thing was, Eliot was right. Hardison’s voice went all froggy half the time, and he couldn’t walk five steps without coughing. And Eliot was in jeans and a plain T-shirt, while Hardison had actually gone for something like style that morning, from his button-down and Star Trek insignia tie to his Black Panther socks — the Wakandan Black Panther and not some ordinary cat from the zoo.

“If you wreck my tie, man...” he grumbled as he carefully unknotted it. No sliding it open and pulling it over his head — not with this baby.

“Christ,” Eliot muttered as he shucked off his jeans, revealing a pair of grey boxer briefs. “Tie it your damned self then. And _hurry up._ ”

Muffling a cough against his arm, Hardison got rid of the tie and set it carefully aside. Then he started unbuttoning his shirt. “You couldn’t have dressed a little nicer today?”

“An hour ago, he went in as a janitor,” Parker reminded everyone unnecessarily.

 _“Ow.”_ Eliot grunted.

Hardison looked up to see Parker poking at one of the bruises that always seemed to decorate Eliot’s ribs.

“You need to start wearing body armor,” she said, giving him another poke.

“Slows me down. Ow. I’m fine if I’m not getting _poked_ all the time.” Eliot was using his grumpy voice, but he also wasn’t moving away or telling Parker to stop.

“Here, man, cover up,” Hardison said, unbuttoning his shirt just enough to pull it over his head. the shirt didn’t matter; it was all about the tie. And the socks.

“Aww. No fun,” Parker accused.

Hardison raised an eyebrow and stood up so he could unbuckle his belt.

Parker’s nose wrinkled adorably. “Okay, maybe a _little_ fun, even if you’re not _enough_ fun while you recover. When are you done with that inhaler of yours?”

“Not soon enough, babe,” Hardison said.

Eliot looked up from the shirt, his eyebrows high, his eyes looking bluer than normal in Lucille’s LED lighting.

“Five more weeks,” Hardison complained, shoving his slacks down. “Dumbass doctor —”

Parker interrupted with a really bad wolf-whistle that sounded more like a dying steam locomotive. “Those too.”

It took Hardison’s brain a second to catch up, only because he was trying his damnedest not to cough. Then he looked down at his boxers: comfy black silk (or fake silk, anyway) with the _Star Wars_ rebel insignia right over the front.

“I’m _not_ wearing his jeans without underwear!” Hardison protested. He’d look ridiculous enough as it was. Eliot’s inseam was two inches shorter than his own.

“It’s verisiwhatitude,” Parker said with a wave of her hand. “What if Eliot has to go to the bathroom? Anyone who sees those boxers will know he’s the real thing.”

“Sophie always says dressing the part is half the work of getting into character,” Eliot added with a shrug. He pulled Hardison’s shirt on, tugged the tails down over his hips, then slipped off his boxer briefs.

“No. Uh uh, no way,” Hardison said, eyeing the boxer briefs instead of what had been under them. “I am _not_ binding up the family jewels in all that elastic and cotton.” He left his own damn boxers firmly in place as he kicked off his shoes, which he should’ve done _before_ dropping his pants.

“It’s not _binding._ It’s for support. I’m a lot more active than you.” Somehow, Eliot could look menacing in nothing but white athletic socks and Hardison’s too-big dress shirt. Even when it was clear that he was specifically _not_ looking in Parker’s direction. “Come _on,_ man. I gotta get back in there.”

With a frustrated huff, Hardison handed over his slacks, then turned his back so he could take off his boxers. “You wash everything before you give it back. No. No, you dry clean it. And leave it in those plastic bags —”

“Socks,” Parker interrupted.

Hardison looked over his shoulder at her. “Baby, not the socks, too...”

“He can’t wear white socks with dress shoes. Sophie said it’s a rule.”

“She’s right,” Eliot said, lifting one leg at a time to strip off his socks. Standing on one leg showed off the strength of his thigh muscles beautifully.

 _This plan sucks,_ Hardison thought, but he didn’t say it, because it wasn’t true. It was the only plan, because of that stupid drowning-dying-then-not-dying thing. And maybe because of that not-dying part, he shoved down his boxers and offered them to Eliot, the man who’d saved his life, who’d breathed for him and made sure his heart was moving the blood through his body until Parker could show up and help.

Parker’s plan. Eliot’s execution. Hardison pulled on the stupid boxer briefs — too tight, body-warm, so damn plain they were plain _ugly_ — and then sat down to take off his socks.

“Tie, boxers, socks, Eliot,” he said, eyeing Eliot threateningly. “One rip, one drop of blood, one spot of _anything_ that ain’t orange soda, and you’ll be so broke, your bank accounts will get sucked into a black hole.”

Eliot looked up from buttoning the pants — man, that dude was a fast dresser — and gave Hardison one of his rare grins made of sunshine and daisies. “You’ll just have to make sure I don’t blow my cover, then.” He clapped Hardison on the shoulder before picking up the tie and holding it out to him.

Hardison got back to his feet and put on Eliot’s T-shirt just to feel less naked. Because while he was in okay shape, he was no Eliot Spencer. Then he took the tie and wrapped it around Eliot’s neck, pulling up the shirt collar. He hadn’t had to put a tie on someone else for a long time, and his brain got all turned around a couple times until he got the knot straight.

“Thanks,” Eliot said quietly, looking up at Hardison. “I know this is a hassle, but...”

Hardison shrugged and snugged the tie into place. “It’s cool, man,” he said, only now feeling guilty about how he’d pushed back. They had a job to do, and Eliot wasn’t an idiot. “You can do this. You’ve done it before.” He picked up Eliot’s jeans and stepped into them. They were wider in the hips but, yeah, way too short, leaving Hardison’s ankles bare. And to hell with waring Eliot’s athletic socks.

Eliot nodded and looked down at their feet. “I’ll wear a button cam if you want.”

Hardison shook his head. “Won’t match these buttons. And the cam-glasses are still busted. You’ll be fine. Just keep your earwig in, and don’t hit anything that’s plugged in. People, you’re on your own.” He sat down, then stuck his hand into the too-large waistband so he could make certain adjustments because of the elastic in the boxer briefs. “Cuff my slacks, Eliot. And your underpants still _suck_.”

Eliot bent down to turn up his hems and tie his dress shoes, voice coming from behind Hardison’s chair. “Yeah, well yours feel fantastic. As long as I don’t have to run anywhere.”

“That’s why I don’t wear any at all,” Parker said as she pushed open Lucille’s back door. “Wedgies. Underwear and climbing harnesses don’t mix.”


	7. Day 7: Cosplaying

It had been a long time since Eliot did this, but the moment he was inside he felt as though he was in the right place. He’d specifically told his team he would be in Colorado, not Chicago, and there was no way anyone would recognize him in his outfit. Not when the entire convention center was filled with people in all kinds of outfits. The point was to interact with strangers who had the same specialized knowledge he did and to learn from folks who were excited about topics that he knew nothing about.

What he hadn’t expected was how expert everyone at C2E2 would be at cosplaying. It was a little breathtaking, and more than a little intimidating. Eliot’s costume wasn’t bad, but it was a few years old, and he hadn’t had a chance to update it without Parker — the nosiest person on the planet with the least understanding of boundaries — finding out.

So he walked the exhibition floor and interacted respectfully with the people he met. One very sweet couple, dressed as a hobbit and an elf, where the hobbit was a good six inches taller, were very complimentary of his makeup and hair, which gave him more confidence. And one child, dressed as an original series Captain Kirk, asked for a picture with him in mid-combat. (Eliot had to stop himself from correcting the child’s grip on her phaser.)

When he stood up from the picture, he turned, only to find himself face-to-face with an extraordinarily realistic Boba Fett and a ridiculously short Darth Vader. Both costumes were well done to the point where Eliot wished for a moment he had a light saber. Too bad Hardison’s design was still in the initial stages of development.

“Out of the way, Klingon scum,” Vader said, voice distorted by electronics and the rasp of heavy breathing.

Boba Fett sighed. “Darth Vader doesn’t call people ‘scum,’ baby,” said a far more familiar voice.

_Dammit. Hardison_. How the hell had they found him? There was no possible way they just _happened_ to be in Chicago for this comic convention. Hardison was a geek, but he wasn’t _that_ big of a geek. Was he?

Eliot’s reflex was to growl, “What are you two _doing_ here?”

“It’s a convention! We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Darth Parker growled back, smacking a surprisingly heavy gauntlet on Eliot’s shoulder. “All sorts of things to steal.”

“See,” Boba Hardison put in quickly. “She means see. Right, baby?”

“No.” Even without sibilants, it came out as a hiss.

“Parker, being a part of the Dark Side doesn’t mean you don’t have a code of ethics. It’s just kinda skewed towards world domination. Or _worlds,_ I guess.” Eliot had possibly spent too much time talking with Sophie about character motivation for grifts.

“Hard to steal an entire planet,” Darth Parker said. It came out more thoughtful than disappointed. “Maybe the United Nations —”

_“No.”_ Boba Hardison’s helmet turned to face Eliot. “C’mon, man. Help me out here.”

“Look, man. _I’m_ not a Jedi. And I’m not Sophie, so I don’t use mind tricks.” Eliot turned to Parker and said, “If you can keep from stealing anything, I’ll get you a present. What do you want?”

“Hmm...” Parker nudged Eliot with that frightening strength she hid so well in her tiny body; he actually teetered until he caught his balance. “Where do Klingons come from?”

“Do _not_ give her the mommy-Klingon daddy-Klingon speech,” Hardison warned.

Darth Parker’s mask hissed. Loudly. People looked over at them. “I meant, what’s their home planet?”

“Kronos. Or, _Q’onoS,_ in Klingon. I guess.” Eliot felt like an idiot letting slip some of the staggering amount of Star Trek trivia that he’d picked up when he was young, even to these two. It made him defensive enough that he growled, “Why?”

“You asked what present I want. Darth Vader collects planets. Darth Parker wants a planet full of hot Klingons.” It came out in that disturbingly blunt way Parker had when she was trying to be flirtatious. Sort of like being flirted with by a rattlesnake.

Hardison laughed. “Ask a stupid question, man...”

Eliot scowled at Hardison, then turned back to Parker. It was disconcerting that he couldn’t see either of their faces, even though he knew it was them. “There’s no such thing as a hot Klingon. Have you watched the shows at all?”

The black coal scuttle helmet turned towards him. Tipped down slowly enough that he could feel Parker’s gaze — and how well could she see through that thing? — crawl down his body, then back up. “Then I’ll keep this one,” she said in her flatly mechanical voice. She shoved her hand between Eliot’s arm and his body, hooking their arms together. Nothing about that should have worked on Eliot, but it did. “And donuts. Bounty hunter, where are the donuts?”

Hardison laughed. “I don’t think they have donuts here. You see any?” he asked, moving to Eliot’s other side.

Eliot held out his crooked arm for Hardison to take, feeling oddly at peace with being flanked. “I’ll get you donuts, but not until after the panel at two p.m.”

“The one with Agent Carter?” Hardison asked, sounding oddly puppy-dog-like for Boba Fett.

“Ooh. Let’s do that,” Parker said, tightening her grip on Eliot’s arm. “I like her. Can we meet her?”

“Got you covered, baby.” Hardison pulled off a chipped olive drab gauntlet and shoved it in Eliot’s free hand. After a quick fumble in one of his authentic-looking belt pouches, he produced three large, glossy tickets. “VIP seats, _and_ an autograph and photo op with the queen herself, Hayley Atwell.”

Three tickets. _Three._ “You’re kidding me. Dammit, Hardison. How are you so...” _Perfect._ Sometimes, Hardison really just amazed Eliot in the most unexpected ways. He threw his free arm around Hardison’s neck and pulled him close. “I could kiss you for that. But I’ll let Parker do it, instead.”

“Are you kidding?” Parker said. Her snort sounded like a lawnmower exploding. “It took twenty minutes to hook up the electronics. I’m not taking off this helmet for anything less than donuts. Or Hayley Atwell.” Eliot wondered for a hot second if all three of them had a hard-on for the same actor.

Laughing, Hardison tucked the three tickets into Eliot’s badge holder, then reached up to pull off his helmet. He gave Eilot a brilliant grin and said, “Age of the geek, baby.”

Eliot’s stomach flipped, until he remembered how much work it had been to attach his fake mustache and beard — much more trouble than the ridged forehead, ironically. He gingerly leaned over and brushed his lips lightly against Hardison’s cheekbone.

A solid weight slammed into his shoulder, hard enough to make him grunt. He looked over at Parker, whose gauntleted hand was clenched into a fist, even though she was still clinging to him with her other hand. “Eww,” she rumbled at him. “You kissed a _bounty hunter_.”

“Ow. He’s _your_ boyfriend, Parker.”

She hit him again. Over his “Ow!” she hissed, “Don’t say that! I don’t want Peggy Carter to hear. I _like_ her.”

“Oh, man. I’ll fight you for her. She’s the hottest thing on TV, hands down.” Eliot said as he smiled at Parker with one eyebrow raised. Again, he held out his elbow for Hardison. “Come on. Let’s go find our seats.”

Hardison put his helmet back on, then took Eliot’s arm. _“Maj,”_ he growled — Klingon for “good.”

With each of his team members holding onto an arm, Eliot grinned like no self-respecting Klingon ever would. How the _hell_ had he gotten so lucky?

“Hayley Atwell, donuts, and my very own Klingon,” Parker said happily. “Best con ever.”


End file.
